Can You Unzip Me?
by chickenwriter
Summary: “Can you unzip me?” It was an innocent question, one Reba would even ask a mere acquaintance. A Question that she had asked Brock so many times before.
1. Can You Unzip Me?

Can you Unzip Me?

_A/N: Random Reba stuff. Set after first episode, one chapter._

Reba trudged up the stairs after what had been one of the longest days of her life. The fact that her marriage had broken up had just hit her, her daughter had married her boyfriend because she was pregnant and Brock's pregnant mistress had come to the wedding. Needless to say, Reba was quite stressed. All she felt like doing was getting out of her mother-of-the-bride dress and taking a bath. That was exactly what she was going to do.

Reba closed the door of her bedroom behind her and reached for the zipper on her dress.

It was stuck.

Of all the things that could happen right now, her zipper would not come down. Footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs, as Reba jumped up and down, holding onto the zipper, trying desperately to loosen it. Someone knocked on her bedroom door.

"Just a second," Reba called to the anonymous knocker. She opened the door slowly, revealing her soon to be ex-husband on the other side.

"Reba, we have to talk." Brock spoke calmly, trying to lure her into having a conversation.

"Sure. Come in." Reba moved aside letting him into her bedroom, their bedroom. Brock sat on the bed, smoothing the comforter next to him as he began to talk.

"I'm sorry I brought BJ."

"Me too." Reba laughed softly at her own joke.

"C'mon Reba."

"Sorry." She sat next to him on the bed. "Apology accepted."

"Thank you." Brock put his hand on her back gently. His hand moved up to rub her shoulder as he sensed the tension that she was holding. Reba smiled, appreciating the small but kind gesture, even if it was from Brock. They sat like that for just about five minutes, until Brock got up to go.

"Oh, Brock?"

"Yea, honey?" Brock instantly regretted what came out of his mouth.

"Can you unzip me?" It was an innocent question; one Reba would even ask a mere acquaintance. A Question that she had asked Brock so many times before. Brock stopped for a second, confused, before nodding.

"Sure."

He fingered the small zipper pull, beginning to move it slowly down ward, catching it on the spot where Reba had not been able to get it past. "It's stuck." He whispered in her ear.

"I know." She whispered back. "Just pull." Brock pulled a little harder on the zipper. He discovered that the zipper was stuck in the fabric. To get it out he'd have to physically remove it. He reached his hand tentatively behind the zipper to pull the piece of fabric out, having to caress his ex-wife's back at the same time. Reba's heart began to race.

Brock was sweating.

He didn't know why touching her in such an innocent way was making his palms sweat, he only wanted to know if her shallower breathing meant she was feeling the same thing.

She was.

But she was also wondering what would happen when he finally got the dress fully unzipped. The moment was coming. Reba could feel the fabric ripping free from the zipper, and Brock's hand returning quickly to the outside of her dress. Reaching once again for the zipper pull, Brock lowered it slowly downward. When it reached the bottom, Brock's mind told him to walk away, but his feet were telling him different. Here they stood, both hearts pounding, Reba with her dress unzipped, Brock not able to move away. Finally Reba spoke.

"Thanks." She said, as she turned to face him. "You can go now." She smiled.

"I…" Brock grabbed for his words. When nothing came out he reached to move a piece of curled hair from Reba's cheek. The movement was sentimental and completely unnerving at the same time. Reba felt as if her heart had stopped beating.

"Brock…" She whispered, cut off by his finger coming to her lips, telling her not to move, not to protest what was going on, whatever it was. Brock leaned foreword, as he placed a hand on her now bare back. The touch made him lose control of his heart.

They kissed.

A totally unexpected accident. Felt from their hair to their toes. A tingling ran down their spines, a feeling they used to experience all the time. The two stood there kissing like there was no Barbara Jean, no accidental baby, no teenage pregnancy, and no married teens. They were whole, if only for that moment. A perfect couple for one moment of bliss.

Reba's hands ran up Brock's back to his hair. His hands moved inside the back of her dress, caressing her delicate skin cautiously, like she would break if he touched her too hard. Reba was the one to break the kiss. She raised a finger next to their faces to hush the passion. She looked into Brock's eyes, realizing where they stood in their lives. There was a Barbara Jean and she was pregnant. Her teenage daughter was married and pregnant in her senior year of high school. Brock was gone and she shouldn't be standing here with her dress halfway off kissing him like this.

"Brock. You should go." She choked out, tears threatening to fall. Her mind raced thinking about the fact that she didn't want it to stop, she never wanted him to leave. Like old times she wanted this to lead to something more, as if they were still married, and though her heart was screaming "Yes!" her mind was screaming "No!" so her heart wouldn't be broken when he did finally leave again.

"No, I really shouldn't." He whispered breathlessly in her ear, reaching for the top of the long sleeve of her dress. He leaned his head down and kissed her neck.

"We can't" Reba said leaning her head away from his tempting kiss.

Inside, she was screaming.

This is all she could have hoped for, all she could have wanted, and all she couldn't have. This is what she would have to stop before it got out of hand and she had some explaining to do. Before she became the mistress to the mistress. Before she became so involved that she couldn't let go.

"Yes we can…" He pulled the sleeve down and kissed her softly as the dress fell noiselessly to the floor at her feet.

"No, you have to go. We can't do this." Reba began to cry, her tears wetting down Brock's shirt as she muffled her words in his chest. "Please, don't do this to me." This was tearing out her heart, silent torture for her whole human form.

"I'm sorry, Reba. So sorry." He didn't know what he was sorry for, or why he would apologize when not a bone in his body was sorry for what he was doing. He wanted to ignore her desperate pleas, to go on like he knew they both wanted, but that wasn't an option. So Brock kissed her a final time, a passion-filled parting kiss, and walked out of their bedroom, out of their marriage, for the last time. He left Reba standing there, alone, afraid and crying, Her dress draped around her ankles and her mascara running down her cheeks. This was a vulnerable side of Reba that few got to see. And all for a simple question: Can you unzip me?

_A/N: Dumb, I know, but that's what happens. I know Reba's hair wasn't long enough for a piece to be hanging on her cheek, but I felt like that should be there. So it was. Let me know what YOU think, regardless of what your thought is. Reviews for my random ramblings designed to entertain my sick little mind are greatly appreciated!_


	2. You Made Your Choice

Chapter 2

_A/N: Back by popular demand (cough…sort of), I have decided to write a second chapter. Seven is the most nice reviews…sadly…that I have ever gotten for a story, so thank you! This is for the reviews, who are greatly encouraged to build up my 15 year old self esteem and review again!_

The hot water of the shower hit Reba like a fire, scalding her skin and warming her soul at the same time. Her tears fell almost as quickly as the flow of the shower-head. In her mind she couldn't make sense of what happened. It was one innocent question that had sparked something anything but innocent.

Sometimes she wished it didn't happen.

Sometimes she wished more did.

Either way she looked at it, Reba knew that it was wrong. Even though legally she was Brock's wife, she wouldn't be his wife for long. He had chosen Barbara Jean, and he couldn't have them both; at least not anymore. She knew that by now that Brock was at his condo, home with his choice; Barbara Jean.

Home.

The idea of his home being somewhere else scared her half to death. The fact that he wouldn't be there for her, physically, mentally, or financially scared her too. She would be alone now. Maybe that's why she was crying hysterically in her shower. Maybe the reason could have been that she thought she failed. She thought she failed as a wife. Like she was never enough to keep Brock happy. He needed to go outside of their marriage to fulfill his "needs" to make himself happy. Sure, their marriage had been failing, she knew that.

But why her?

BJ wasn't super skinny. She didn't have a better style. Barbara Jean was a clown, and dumber than a doornail. She, most likely, barely squeaked by in her high school class. Now she was pregnant with Brock's, a soon to be grandfather, baby, and marrying someone else's husband. Reba's husband.

Reba was baffled.

Mrs. Hart reached up and turned the water off. Cutting off her lifeline, or so it seemed to her. Now she would have to go out and face the world, and Brock. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. Walking into the bedroom she saw her dress lying on the floor, precisely where she left it. A pile of cloth that meant more than anyone in the world could know. She couldn't bring herself to pick it up. It seemed like it meant the ending.

As she got dressed she attempted to put on a happy face. To see the family that was falling apart under her fingers. Like humpty-dumpty, nothing could put it back together again. Jeans and a tee-shirt (with no zipper), made up Reba's outfit as she walked down the stairs to her new life.

Little did she know that Brock was at the bottom of the stairs.

"Reba! I wanted to…." He started, grabbing her arm as she tried to walk swiftly by him.

"Brock, don't." She ripped her arm away, too forcefully for how lightly he had been holding her.

"Don't what?"

"Torture me like this. You're leaving. I've accepted that." Well…almost. "You're confusing me."

"I'm confusing myself. I still love you, Reba." Brock reached out to touch her cheek so tenderly it made Reba nauseous.

"Yes, I know. I love you too." She immediately regretted those words, even if they did come out cold and heartless.

"We could figure this out, you know. It would be alright with me." Reba almost considered agreeing, to give in and got to therapy again, to try again, but she couldn't. Not now that BJ was expecting.

"No, Brock." She said sadly as her heart sank. "You made your choice."

"Reba…"

"You made your choice." Reba repeated, sticking her hand up. "Now you have to live with it."

"I'm sorry, Reba. That I hurt you."

"Me too." Brock leaned in and kissed Reba softly on the lips.

"Bye."

"See ya' around." Reba joked as he walked out. "Hopefully." She added as he closed the door.

"Mom?" Cheyenne said, surprise lacing her face. Reba could tell she had witnessed the entire thing. "Did you just kiss Dad?"

"Yea, I did." Reba was a bad liar. "But I won't ever make that mistake again." This was a promise to herself more than anything. A promise not to look back, and to never feel sorry for herself. She could mope as much as she wanted, but it wouldn't bring him back to her arms again.


	3. I Don't Want To Be Your Friend

Chapter 3

A/N: Yay! Three chapters! It was originally a one-shot! I wanted to let you all know that the reviews make me very smiley inside! This chapter is short, but I ran out of ideas. Just wait, something will come to me in the middle of International Studies!

_Am I gone from your thoughts?_

_Forgotten somehow?_

_When you lie there with her_

_Does my memory stir any part of you now?_

_I know that I should concede_

_Face the truth and all that_

_I know I should realize I'm not part of your life anymore_

_But I can't_

_Cause I don't want to be your friend_

_I just want to be your lover_

_I don't think I can pretend that you mean nothing to me_

_**It's hard enough to say goodbye**_

_**Even when you know it's over**_

_I don't want to be your friend_

_I want to be your lover_

_And when I think I've had enough_

_And I just can't stand the pain_

_I reminisce about the way it felt to have you every day_

_You know that every time I hear your voice_

_I still get a thrill_

_And there's nothing I can do about it_

-I Don't Want to Be Your Friend: Made famous By Pat Benatar

* * *

She was distant; cold, even. A figure barely moving throughout her day-to-day life. No one got to see the Reba they once knew. She took on the attitude that if she didn't love, she couldn't get hurt. Her children get love, and hugs and kisses at night as they always did, but it was almost like Reba had put up a closed sign on her heart. The feelings she felt were purely in her brain, as she told herself. Her heart was away on vacation. 

That was, until she saw him again. Brock would come into her home, and she would act tough, yes, but there was no denying that she loved him with all her heart. All her time was spent missing him, and thinking of how it used to be. She never stopped thinking about him, he never left her thoughts.

The same could be said for Brock. Reba's memory was like an annoying bug that buzzed around his ear, and couldn't be swatted away. The love he felt for her when he saw her was partially why he kept coming back. Even when she yelled at him, the fiery red-head had his heart, and wouldn't give it back.

Reba felt confusion. Constant confusion. When he wasn't around, she could shut the feelings down; quiet them, if only for a moment. But when he was in sight, she just wanted to hold him in her arms like she used to. To kiss his lips and to know that everything would be right with the world.

She couldn't.

He was very off limits. Brock was closed off to her, in as many ways as she could handle. If she had it her way, she would never see him again. Reba tried so hard to forget him, to forget what they had. The passion, the heat, the friendship and the love they once knew; but she couldn't. You can't erase over 20 years of love and friendship. It doesn't just disappear.

Reba knew this.

But still when he walked into a room and all the memories in her body flooded to her brain, she tried to shut down. She wanted to turn off the ignition switch in her mind, tell the feelings to go away, but she couldn't do that. Brock took over, every minute, every hour and every day. His walking into a room broke her down.

"Hey Reba." Brock announced casually, not knowing the pain he caused his once strong and stable companion just by talking.

"Hey." She mustered up the courage to greet him with a straight face.

"I'm here for Jake."

"Yea," She said sarcastically, "I know."

Brock knew.

Sarcasm was the way she dealt with things. Her sense of humor got her through the hardest times. No matter what those things may be. Until Barbara Jean ran into the room.

"Hi! I just have to use the little girlies room, Reba?" B.J. pointed to the stairs.

"Go." Reba sighed.

"Oh, thanks!"

Yes, those were the times she couldn't stand her own sense of humor.

"Reba, I have to talk to you while B.J. is upstairs." This didn't sound good. "I have to know where you stand."

"In my living room, why?"

"Reba!"

"Sorry." Reba sighed and tilted her head. "I stand at the place where you aren't here anymore and I never have to see Barbara Jean."

"I really just wanted to know how mad you were…"

"Mad enough to do this!" She almost yelled as she smacked in the back of the head. "Now go home. Be with the woman you chose and stop this torture."

"Reba, I can't."

"What do you mean you can't? It's easy! Just get out of my house!"

"Reba, why don't you get this? I still love you!" Reba stepped back.

"No, you don't." She was defensive, and tried to run out of the room. Brock grabbed her arm and twirled her so she was facing him, only inches were left between them. He looked into her eyes and slowly let her out of his grasp, hoping she would stay. She stayed. "Brock,"

"No. I need this, you need this." Brock leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss. Reba broke away and ran quickly out of the room.

When she reached the kitchen she sunk down between the counter and the stove and cried. Tears poured down her face, tears of sadness and frustration. Why couldn't he leave her alone? B.J. was upstairs! How dare he pounce on her like that? Why did he say they needed that? And most importantly, why did she enjoy it? Whatever it was, she never wanted it to happen again. Or did she?

She wonder if moving on would ever be possible. After being with the same man for 25 years, it seems as if when he leaves, your life falls apart. She wanted to be friends, but for her, now, it wouldn't work.


End file.
